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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803653">Who Leaves a Wedding Early?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveparker/pseuds/sylveparker'>sylveparker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes - fandom, johnlock - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, POV Greg Lestrade, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sad, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock is a Mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:48:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveparker/pseuds/sylveparker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two short stories surrounding John's wedding to Mary and how much it truly affected Sherlock.<br/>Sad boi hours for our favorite detective. 🖤</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Best Man Speech</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>POV: Greg Lestrade </p><p> </p><p>HELP.<br/>
BAKER ST.<br/>
NOW.<br/>
HELP ME.<br/>
PLEASE.</p><p> </p><p>Shit.<br/>
This must be bad.<br/>
“I—I have to go.” I stammer to Donovan, already turning to leave.<br/>
“What?” She asks, surprised.<br/>
I sigh frantically.<br/>
“You make the arrest.” I say, stepping backwards.<br/>
“No way!” She calls after me.<br/>
“Sorry.” I answer, stepping away again. “You’ll be fine.”<br/>
Her eyes search me, questioning if I’m serious.<br/>
“I—I’m cool with this.” I say.<br/>
“Jones will get all the credit if you leave now!” She yells. “You know he will!”<br/>
I hesitate in the hallway.<br/>
She’s right.<br/>
If I leave now, I’m screwed.<br/>
All my hard work would be for nothing.<br/>
But Sherlock never asks for help, especially not like that.<br/>
“Yeah but… It doesn’t matter.” I answer. “I have to go.”<br/>
I turn and run down the hall.<br/>
“Back-up!” I scream into my phone. “I need maximum back-up!”<br/>
I pull the door to the car open, sliding into the driver’s seat.<br/>
“Baker Street!” I call into the phone as I slam the car into drive. “Now!”<br/>
I speed through the streets of London with my sirens on.<br/>
Somewhere behind me I hear the whir of the helicopter as I pull up to 221B.<br/>
I run up the stairs and open the door the living room, my gun drawn.<br/>
Sherlock sits at his desk.<br/>
“What’s going on?” I breathe, scanning the flat for anything out of place.<br/>
Sherlock presses his fingers to his temples, his face pulled up into a grimace.<br/>
“This is hard.” He says softly.<br/>
I lower my gun slightly.<br/>
“What?” I ask.<br/>
He opens his eyes as he looks at the screen.<br/>
“Really hard.” He says again. “Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”<br/>
He lowers his hands from his face and picks up a small book from beside the computer.<br/>
He holds it up to me, showing me the cover.</p><p>How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech</p><p>I stare at him in disbelief.<br/>
There’s no way he called me here to help him write a speech.<br/>
“Have you any funny stories about John?” He asks me.<br/>
More sirens blare down the street.<br/>
“What?!” I exclaim as the helicopter blares.<br/>
Here comes my back-up.<br/>
Sherlock puts the book down onto the desk.<br/>
“I need anecdotes.” He says, finally looking at me. “Didn’t go to any trouble did you?”<br/>
His eyes are wide as he asks me, as though he can’t hear the rapidly approaching sirens on the street.<br/>
I close my eyes and take a deep breath in exasperation as the helicopter blades blow wind through the open windows.<br/>
Anger courses through me as I realize that I lost the biggest case I’ve had in months to this ridiculousness.<br/>
I snap my eyes open and look at Sherlock, ready to tell him off.<br/>
But his eyes are wide as he looks back at me, an almost scared look spreads across his features.<br/>
A look I’ve never seen on Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>I take another deep breath as I slide my phone out of my pocket.<br/>
Sherlock stands up and begins pacing as I give a half-assed apology to the hoards of back-up I called to the flat.<br/>
Finally, they accept my reason for calling them off, and I hear the cars pulling away as the blades of the helicopter sound more and more distant.<br/>
“Okay.” I tell Sherlock as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Let’s write the damn thing.”<br/>
He pauses his pacing to look at me for a moment, nodding before continuing his path of pacing in front of the fireplace.<br/>
We’ve been worried about this.<br/>
John’s wedding is right around the corner, like literally tomorrow, and we don’t know what Sherlock will do after that.<br/>
“Well… let’s see what you have so far.” I say softly, walking over to his laptop.<br/>
The screen is open to a document, but the only word on the page is ‘John’.</p><p>Poor bastard.</p><p>I look up at Sherlock, and he looks at me with a slightly embarrassed frown.<br/>
“Hey, that’s alright.” I say gently. “We’ll think of something.”<br/>
He nods again and steps closer to me.<br/>
“The book says to share anecdotes.” He mumbles, waving one hand in a gesture towards the book on the desk.<br/>
I nod as I rest my fingers on the keys of his laptop.<br/>
“Okay, well you have stories with John.” I say. “We can make a list and go from there.”<br/>
He nods, running his fingers through his hair.<br/>
“John’s stag night.” He says. “That’s a good one.”<br/>
I type it into the document.<br/>
“What else?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle.<br/>
He tells me stories about John, and I type them into his document.<br/>
After we get ten or so stories, I lean back in the chair.<br/>
“Alright, that should be good.” I tell him. “What does the book say next?”<br/>
He closes his eyes, recalling the next chapter.<br/>
“Congratulatory words to the Mr. and Mrs.” He says, his voice low.<br/>
I nod.<br/>
“Right. So, any ideas on that?” I ask, looking up at him.<br/>
He covers his face with his hands.<br/>
I clear my throat.<br/>
“Erm, we could start with something about how glad you are that he found Mary?” I ask turning towards the screen again. “That’s generic enough, yeah?”<br/>
I start typing the sentence into the document.<br/>
Sherlock’s silence stops my fingers.<br/>
“Sherlock?” I ask quietly, looking back up at him.<br/>
His hands are still glued to his face, his chest rises and falls rapidly.<br/>
“Right.” He mumbles hoarsely from under his hands. “We can say that.”<br/>
I nod, slowly typing out the line.<br/>
“Okay.” I say quietly. “Now what?”<br/>
“I don’t know!” He explodes, throwing his hands down into fists at his sides. “I don’t know what to say!”<br/>
I look up at him silently.<br/>
“The book says to write how happy I am for him; how happy I am for Mary.” He shouts, his voice growing more hysteric with every word. “But I’m not bloody happy, Greg! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!”</p><p>His cheeks are red with heat, and the rims around his eyes are red with tears.<br/>
I slowly stand up, pushing the chair away from the desk.<br/>
“I know, Sherlock.” I say softly as I walk over to stand in front of him.<br/>
He laughs bitterly.<br/>
“Yeah? What do you know?” He spits.<br/>
I slowly put my hand on his shoulder.<br/>
“Sherlock.” I say softly. “I know.”</p><p>He looks at me as if he’s evaluating the sincerity of my statement.<br/>
“Why is it like this?” He asks me, his voice barely above a whisper.<br/>
I pull him to my by his shoulder, wrapping him in a hug.<br/>
He freezes for a moment under my grasp, but his body relaxes as he awkwardly hugs me back.<br/>
“Why is it like this?” He says again, his voice choked and thick as his head rests against my shoulder.<br/>
“I don’t know Sherlock.” I whisper, patting his back gently.<br/>
We stand there in silence for a minute, and then Sherlock sniffles quietly.<br/>
Seconds later, he does it again.<br/>
It doesn’t take long until massive sobs rack his body, I just hold him tighter as he cries.<br/>
“It’ll be alright, Sherlock.” I murmur, patting his back again.<br/>
He leans back, his eyes are puffy and red as he wipes them with his hand.<br/>
He shakes his head.<br/>
“It won’t be.” He says, his voice low but intense. “Alright I mean.”<br/>
His hands grab fistfuls of the fabric of his dressing gown as he paces again.<br/>
I sigh softly.<br/>
“It isn’t like he’s going anywhere Sherlock.” I tell him. “He’ll still see you.”<br/>
He laughs bitterly.<br/>
“He’s Mary’s.” He says, his knuckles turning white with his grip on the fabric. “It’s too late, and you know what I mean.”<br/>
He looks up at me through wet eyelashes as he flops down into his chair.<br/>
I walk over to him, sitting on the edge of the table.</p><p>“Look Sherlock,” I say, sighing heavily, “I like John, I do. But he’s a bloody idiot.”<br/>
Sherlock tilts his head up to face me.<br/>
“It would take a fool to not see the way you feel for him.” He looks down as I talk. “But it would also take a fool to not see the way he feels for you.”<br/>
His face snaps back up to mine instantly.<br/>
“And I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I say with a deep breath, “but don’t give up. You were gone for a long time, and he’s getting married on paper. Doesn’t mean it’s right.”<br/>
I meet Sherlock’s gaze, his wide eyes search mine.<br/>
I stand up after a moment and walk over to the laptop again.<br/>
“Still want my help writing this?” I ask.<br/>
Sherlock stays frozen in place for a minute longer before standing up and walking over to me.<br/>
“Yes.” He says softly. “Thank you.”<br/>
I nod as I put my fingers back on the keys.<br/>
“What do you want to say?” I ask.</p><p>Sherlock smiles slightly, taking in a deep breath before he begins to speak.<br/>
We sit by the computer for hours as Sherlock narrates the speech and I type.<br/>
By the time it’s done, it’s a seven-page declaration of Sherlock’s love to John.<br/>
But Sherlock is clever, and if you didn’t know how he felt for the doctor, you would only hear a best man speaking at his friend’s wedding.<br/>
We can only hope that John gets the bigger picture, the deeper meaning.<br/>
I don’t even want to know what will happen if he doesn’t.<br/>
If he doesn’t end up picking Sherlock in the end.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>POV: Sherlock Holmes</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stand beside John through the ceremony.<br/>Being his best man is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I do it for him.<br/>My hand is behind my back, closed into the tightest fist I can manage.<br/>Controlling the pain is the only way to keep it from ripping through me. </p>
<p>John says I do. </p>
<p>I close my fist tighter.<br/>It’s Mary’s turn.</p>
<p>She says I do, and I mouth it along with her.<br/>Just to have the chance to be here, and say I do to John Watson. </p>
<p>I hope no one noticed.<br/>I hope no one notices the hole in the center of my chest, slowly ripping me in two. </p>
<p>The ceremony ends. <br/>Hours pass, I give my speech and solve a crime in a daze, the pain throbbing through my body.<br/>Numbing me to anything else. </p>
<p>Mary is dancing with John.<br/>Molly with Tom.<br/>Mrs. Hudson with Lestrade.<br/>Janine with the man from the ceremony. </p>
<p>I stand in the back of the room, my hands in my pockets. <br/>I scan the room, following John with my eyes as he twirls Mary through the crowd. </p>
<p>The lights are too bright.<br/>My suit is too scratchy. <br/>A fine gleam of sweat covers my brow as my heart beats harder and harder. </p>
<p>I can’t stay here. <br/>I have to get out of here. <br/>No one will notice. <br/>No one will care.</p>
<p>It takes everything in me to not run through the building.<br/>I finally step outside.<br/>The cool air fills my lungs, calming the panic building inside me.<br/>But only for a moment.</p>
<p>John is married.<br/>John is Mary’s now. <br/>Mary Watson.<br/>They’re having a baby. <br/>They’ll be a real family.<br/>They’ll soon forget Sherlock Holmes. </p>
<p>The panic builds.<br/>I’m running. <br/>Through the streets, through parks, through crowds.<br/>I don’t know where I am, or where I’m going. <br/>The ache of my lungs is the only thing I can feel.<br/>It drowns the ache in the center of me, threatening to tear me in two. <br/>My legs, my lungs, my heart protest. <br/>But I keep running. </p>
<p>I run to the alley, to the place I know I can get a fix. <br/>The man I’m looking for is standing against a wall, right where he was the last time I asked.<br/>I throw the crumpled bills in my hand his way, and he hands me a small bag of tar.<br/>“Sherlock?” he says, his gravelly voice echoes in my mind. “Are you alright?” <br/>I look at him, and when I meet his eyes, the ache pulls me further apart.</p>
<p>No, no, not here. </p>
<p>I stuff the bag into my pocket, turn on my heels and run.<br/>Hard and fast. <br/>Sweat pours down my face, my hair sticking to my forehead. <br/>I finally find myself running down Baker Street.<br/>I come to a stop in front of 221 B.</p>
<p>The knocker on the door is perfectly centered. <br/>I ignore it, pushing it open and running up the stairs. <br/>My legs threaten to give out as I swing open the door to the flat.<br/>I slump against the door frame, catching my breath.<br/>I flip the light on, and Mycroft is sitting in my chair.<br/>I don’t move.</p>
<p>He stands up, and gingerly takes a few steps towards me.<br/>I look up at him, letting the ache within me rip across my body.<br/>“Oh, Sherlock.” He murmurs, diving forward to catch me as I fall. <br/>I fall into his arms, heaving sobs rack my body.</p>
<p>My insides break into pieces, like a glass being dropped on a hardwood floor.<br/>Mycroft holds me tightly to him.<br/>I can’t remember a time I so much as shook his hand, nevertheless fell into his arms.<br/>But I don’t care now.<br/>He’s the only thing holding me together. <br/>His hand rubs my back, awkwardly at first, and then finding a rhythm against my sobs. <br/>I don’t ask how he knew I’d come here.<br/>I don’t ask why he cares.<br/>He knows how I feel about John.<br/>He knows that everything in me is shattered now.<br/>I made it through the wedding, now I let the pain of letting John go take me under.<br/>Eventually the sobs turn into numbness.</p>
<p>Mycroft knows me all too well, checking my pockets and removing the bag of tar.<br/>He would normally have some comment upon finding it, but he says nothing, tucking it into his pocket. <br/>He coaxes me onto the couch, I can’t manage sitting in my chair, starring at John’s.<br/>He makes me tea. <br/>I don’t drink it, but the heat of the cup keeps my hands from being numb.<br/>From time to time, he tries to talk to me about it, but after a while he stops.<br/>I don’t want to hear how I’ll move on.<br/>Or how John will always be in my life. </p>
<p>I don’t want to hear about my best friend.<br/>Not when I’m in love with the man who I just watched be married. <br/>Not when he’ll never know.<br/>Mycroft leaves at some point. <br/>Maybe after a few hours, maybe after a few days.<br/>Not that it matters. </p>
<p>The flat is quiet.<br/>Empty.<br/>Not even Mrs. Hudson tries to talk to me.<br/>John is on his honeymoon. </p>
<p>And I need a fix.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading, leave a comment!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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